He would sit in the bleachers, among the regular fans. With his wavy brown hair, and his usual white Oxford shirt. Just another fan at my hometown basketball games. Just another fan, except for the continuous barrage of insults he hurled at the referees.
No one ever admitted to knowing who the man was. His loud and obnoxious behavior was at first amusing. However, just a game or two into the season, all amusement had vanished. The mystery man in the bleachers had become an embarrassment to the rest of us.
The way this fellow acted, one would have thought that each game was the state final. The truth was, our team was not very good back in the seventies. Certainly nothing over which to get all that emotional.
In retrospect, I think there was something a little off about the man. An emotional imbalance, or substance abuse issue maybe. Whatever the case, the loud fan was, eventually asked to leave, and not come back. Our high school principal made it clear that he, and the rest of the fans, had endured enough of the man’s abuse and vitriol.
To the relief of everyone involved, the mystery fan left. He left, and stayed gone.
I’m sure no one was more grateful to see the mystery fan go than the referees. They had endured so much abuse, so much anger from the man in the white oxford with the wavy brown hair. Gone at last, gone at last, thank God almighty, he’s gone at last!
Whatever the source of his anger and vitriol, the fact was that the mystery fan was just a bully. For whatever reason, he felt the need to pick on someone else. The need to build himself up at the expense of another. In this case, it was at the expense of the referees. They made such easy targets.
Easy targets, yes, but also targets who showed a great deal of self-discipline. They never lashed out. They didn’t rush up the bleachers to confront their antagonist. In fact, they paid him no mind at all. They were there to referee a basketball game. They were there with a purpose. No bully was going to prevent them from fulfilling that purpose.
Sadly, bullies can be found everywhere, even in the Narcotics Anonymous fellowship. A few mornings ago, I found myself being bullied. A friend had posted a comment about one of the featured speakers at a meeting who had laced her story with over 120 f-bombs. (Who counts these things anyway?)
Well, despite knowing better, I made the mistake of commenting on the post fairly early on, agreeing that 120 is pretty over-the-top. My point was that in a spiritual program, perhaps our language should be one of the things that reflects our new way of life. Over the course of the day, that post drew a good deal of attention. Good points were made on both sides. Healthy debate.
Then the bullies showed up. They were up even before me. It started with a very sound and measured rebuttal of my comments.
Oh shoot, no it didn’t. It started with one of the bullies calling me a eunuch, and suggesting that I wasn’t qualified to comment, or even be in NA for that matter because I’ve never been to prison. Never lived on the streets. Never paid the price for membership that he had paid.
Soon his sidekick chimed in. Agreeing that I am not like them. Suggesting that I am too spiritually minded to be of any use to the fellowship, or the world at large for that matter.
I’m still trying to figure out how one can be “too spiritual” in a spiritual program???
Anyway, their words stung. These two bullies are supposed leaders. You know, the ones people look up to. The ones who are regularly asked to share at speaker meetings. The ones others listen to.
I’ve been sitting on this pain for a few days now. My instinct told me to lash out verbally. To cut them to the quick with a barrage of insults of my own. Put them in their places. Make them pay.
I guess these spiritual principles are sinking in a little. I instantly resisted the desire to fight back. Instead, I practiced self-discipline and went about my business. I attended a meeting, and then another. I prayed. I meditated. I kept coming back, and I’ll keep coming back.
Like those referees, I have a job to do. I have a purpose for being here. Having heard the message of Narcotics Anonymous, I came in the door to stop using drugs, lose the desire to use, and find a new way to live. It would be insane to allow my purpose to be derailed by someone shouting me down from the bleachers.
I even turned their insults into jokes. A eunuch? Nope, I checked just to be sure… still not a eunuch. My friends laughed. It felt good to turn hate into humor.
I checked our third tradition too. It still tells me that a desire to stop using is the only requirement for membership. No jail time, rap sheet, or prison tattoos required. Why, I don’t even have to lace every sentence spoken with expletives.
That’s right, the price I paid for my seat in the rooms is enough. Just like the price paid by any other addict seeking recovery. It is sufficient. No need to go back out and pay more.
Writing about this experience has helped. It had built back some of the confidence, some of the purpose that the words of two bullies tried to chip away.
So, I’m going to continue to be myself. I’m going to continue practicing these principles in every area of my life. I’ll do it imperfectly to be sure. I’ll keep coming back, because every day I want to…
Have a remarkable day!
Daily Spiritual Principle - one addict's thoughts 